One Night Is Never Enough Part 17

Sam looked relieved. "Ah, good. Cuz there's nothin' to be doing for us bluh-street types. Even when's we fall into money. Need backin' from Tur- named money. Who have the ear of Perlament."

Charlotte decided to divide the rather odd conversation into compartments. She concentrated on the task rather than the partic.i.p.ants. "Do you have specific ideas, or did you want to allocate money to groups that support your aims?"

"Both." He settled into his chair, looking more relaxed. "Right good of you to de-figure it, Lady."

She could almost feel the amus.e.m.e.nt at her back, but there was something more serious in the air behind her as well. She pushed the question of it aside, concentrating on the man seated in front of her as he spoke about specifics.

Half an hour later, Sam exited the room, more excited and relaxed than when he'd walked in. His s.h.i.+rt had been pulled loose from his trousers, in comfortable disarray. He had obviously been uncomfortable putting on whatever show he had thought he needed to perform when he'd first entered.

She stayed facing forward in her seat for a long moment before turning. Roman was still lounging in his chair, pulling the leather through his fingertips.

She waited until he met her eyes. "I believe you have something to say?"

He raised a brow in question.

"Something that might start with, 'My apologies, Charlotte, I didn't realize what I was asking you to do' or maybe 'Wake up, Charlotte, you've been abed too long.' "

A lazy smile curved. "If only it could be the latter." His face grew serious a moment later. "Will you help?"

She examined him, the lazy posture with just a hint of tightness to it.

"Yes."

He smiled again, everything about him relaxing.

"His-their?-aims are good, and he has some interesting ideas," she said. "There are a few well-placed women who champion such causes. I know with whom to speak." She shook her head. "Not quite sure how I will introduce the subject, but I do know the right ears for this."

"Thank you."

She examined him again. "You could have asked the Delaneys."

"Why, when I could ask you?" He smiled slowly.

"The Delaneys have more power than I do."

For now. Someday . . .

"But then I'd be beholden to them when I'd much rather be beholden to you." His smile stretched lazily.

"You don't need to be beholden at all." Bad idea to release the winning cards already in her possession, but pride was pride. "This is something I will do without payment. Surely you know that." Active partic.i.p.ation in her charities was something that cleansed her soul. To accept money would go against her every principle.

And if he knew anything about her . . .

"Yes." His eyes dropped, lips still curved. "Though I will settle a few of your father's debts anyway. A selfish desire, I a.s.sure you. As I want you free ."

"Why are you helping Sam?"

He looked up at her through lazy eyes. "Need to clean money sometimes. Need to care for different types of employees. I'm not doing it because I'm kind."

She narrowed her eyes. His name wasn't mentioned in charitable circles-beyond his singular appearance at the Delaneys'-so his selfish words made sense. Still, he seemed terribly interested in her charity work whenever the subject was raised. And when speaking on the subject, the lines of his body belied the amus.e.m.e.nt invariably present in his face.

She left her high-backed chair and walked over to sit across from him in one more comfortable.

He watched her, that insufferably light smile about his lips.

And she thought of her options. Of what she had been feeling every night before she fell asleep, every morning as she woke. Every time his lips or fingers touched her.

She could . . . choose her fate. Or at the very least, she could choose the way she fell. Cold and brittle, shattering upon the stones. Or hot and writhing and . . . alive.

"I wish to pay my debt. To give you the night I owe. I can clear my schedule tomorrow and say I've taken ill."

He continued to lounge in his chair, but his eyes were alert, quick. "Why?"

She met his eyes boldly. Thinking of all she knew-and had yet to learn-about the man in front of her. She posed her own question in answer. "Don't you wish to meet on even ground?"

His eyes sparked, he scooted forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, the lash forgotten. "Oh, Charlotte. You play with fire."

"Do I?"

Roman looked at the woman in front of him, calm and collected, but there was heat there, such precious heat that was straining. Offering.

It only took one second for the words to form and emerge. "Consider the debt of the night wiped free."

He saw her blink. Stunned.

Watched the disappointment form. He felt nearly giddy as her disappointment formed.

"What, but-"

"But what?" He smiled, loving the look on her face, even the desire that was slowly shuttering-for he would obliterate those shutters with his next words. "You think I am freeing you?"

Uncertainty. Delicious uncertainty. She pulled her bottom lip in. "Aren't you?"

"No." He leaned forward, pressing on his elbows, until his lips were so close to hers that he could feel the heat of her, soft and delicious. "I am a selfish man."

"A selfish man takes what is offered to him." Was that doubt in her voice, doubt of her charms?

"No, a selfish man destroys what is offered to him and demands more. He demands everything. "

He touched her chin, pulling his finger beneath it, bringing her lower lip to brush against his. "I am a selfish man, and all of you, Charlotte . . . that is my demand."

Chapter 12.

I f she thought it had been a h.e.l.l of a week, it had proven to be a crazed monster of a morning. Confusing, overwhelming, unnerving. Giddy with desire, knots of tension overtaking rational sense.

"Charlotte, come into my study."

She stiffened when her father imperiously waved her forward. What was he doing home so early in the morning again?

As a child she had entered the room to a myriad of warm accents and plush fabrics, beautiful, leather-bound books, and lovely paintings. But like everything in her world, it had been stripped and bared. They should have sold the house last year and rented a smaller home in a less prestigious section of town, but appearance was everything to her father, and they would cling to these crumbling walls until the bitter end, when there was nothing left.

"Where have you been?" he snapped.

That Charlotte had been out wasn't the issue. That she had been taking an early-morning walk in the park down the street wasn't either. That she had left Anna behind, and that someone had obviously gone looking for Charlotte and had not found her was.

She a.s.sumed the proper demure stance behind one of the uncomfortable, upright chairs in front of his overly grand desk-the last piece he would ever part with. "I was out for a walk in the park and took the long way around. I needed to clear my mind."

He was prowling behind the desk, lifting papers and discarding them as was his recent habit when agitated. "Don't do it again. Do you want us ruined?"

"Of course not. But a walk in the early hours is not a social crime. The ton isn't even awake yet."

"Any breach of protocol is detrimental for us right now."

"I will remember that." The best time to remember would be when her lips were about to be pressed to Roman Merrick's, and yet that was when those thoughts were farthest from her mind.

"Foul rumors are making the rounds."

She kept her breathing even. "Oh?"

"And you do nothing. "

Had someone seen them? Finally? In the shadows, the devil seducing the virgin? Hades seducing Persephone?

"Your mother is working against us." He clenched his fists. "Someone remarked about her fading looks. Her lack of status. That you only have another good year or two in you. That you are aging quickly. And they are right." He slapped a hand against the desk.

She stood perfectly straight and unmoving. The relief when she didn't hear Roman's name quickly falling to cold emptiness at her father's words.

"Scandal looms upon us, girl. The walls are closing in. And we must play the hand we have now ."

She loosened her jaw enough to say, "I have heard nothing concerning your bet. And there are those who would not remain silent if they knew."

His mouth twisted. "Don't be a fool." His eyes went to the scattered papers on his desk.

She pushed the feelings down into the pit, concentrating on her father's bills and credit notes instead. "What do you have there, Father?" she asked. Breathing room. What had Roman done? "It looks like a bill that has been paid."

Paper crumpled in his fist. " It is none of your concern. "

Frightened that it had been paid? Or was there something more . . . something worse?

"If it isn't that night, then-"

He slammed a hand on the desk, scattering the papers. "Your concern should be working your wiles and securing a t.i.tle. No more drifting through ballrooms and pasting on smiles. You show no urgency. "

She pasted on her calmest smile. "My apologies, Father. But it seems beyond vulgar to show our desperation. "

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't get impertinent with me."

Her eyes locked with his, volatility s.h.i.+fting the cold. "How many offers have you turned down in the past two and a half years?"

"They weren't up to par!"

"I will marry well."

"I have seen no evidence of this!"

"Just last night I danced with-"

"Dancing! What difference does that make?"

"Dancing isn't purely a physical and joyous pastime, Father. And it doesn't simply entail moving across a floor." She took a breath, controlling herself. "But you know this."

"I don't see any progress. Any urgency on your part. Even now." He swiped a hand toward her. "You stand there as if you have no life within you."

"I a.s.sure you I have a heartbeat." And that it far outstripped his.

"Then show it," he said viciously. "Get them panting at your skirts instead of admiring you from afar."

She stood rigidly. "I think you unsure whether you want me to be the trophy or the vixen."

"Be both!"

A smile twisted her face. "Perhaps you should encourage more card games to teach me the other side."

He advanced rapidly around the desk and grabbed her chin in his hand. Anger underlined the embittered anxiety she could see in his eyes. "You will hold your tongue."

His hand shook. Nothing to drink yet then. She held herself stiffly.

His fingers gentled. "You are superior to every woman in society. My prize. I knew it when you were thirteen. Nurtured it. You have the makings of perfection. Flawless."

She didn't reply, just stared at him.

"Do this. G.o.d knows your sister is useless."

She wrenched her chin away. "Emily is far better than you-"

He grabbed her arm, though he was careful not to mark her. Her father knew better than to mark his art. "I'll marry her to Lord Kinley."

"You wouldn't." The distention hardened into something dark and deadly.

He narrowed his eyes. "He offered for you once. I could talk him around. He likes them young."

The darkness reached up. "I'd make sure she was widowed the night of the wedding."